


Propellium Res

by partypaprika



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 01:17:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: Draco said goodbye and started walking down the hallway. The pain flared back up in Ron’s chest just as Draco began wheezing. Draco stopped. Turned around. Walked slowly back to Ron. For every step that he took, the pain decreased.“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Draco said and put his face into his hands.





	Propellium Res

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redsnake05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/gifts).



> redsnake05, your prompts were irresistible to me--I hope that you enjoy!

“The acanthus root goes on the left,” Draco said. He was standing casually behind Ron and as he’d been doing for the past few weeks, he was standing a little closer than was normal. It was slowly driving Ron mad. “No, the other left,” Draco said. He sounded bored and faintly patronizing, but in the four years since they’d been assigned partners, Ron had come to understand that bored and faint patronizing was just how Draco sounded. Resting bitch voice, if one willed.

 Ron placed the acanthus root onto the left arm of the star as slowly as possible for the sole purpose of annoying Draco. “Oh, come on,” Draco said. “Can we speed this up? My mother will skin me alive if I’m late tonight.”

“Patience is the hallmark of a good Auror,” Ron said as he began to lay out the myrtle. “Besides, I have no doubt that your mother would only skin you alive if it was absolutely necessary, like your skin would make a good accessory.

“Yes, so exceptionally funny,” Draco said and then he began to sprinkle the manioc and thistle mixture over the entire pentagram. “Alright, I think that we’re finally ready.”

Ron took a step back as Draco raised his wand and pointed it at the half of map that they had in the very centre of the pentagram. “ _Propellium res_ ,” Draco said loudly. The pentagram began glowing, bright white light leaping up from the outer circle and then there was a flash of green light that spread through the circle.

“Good, it’s working,” Ron said.

“Of course, it’s working,” Draco said dismissively. And then there was a bang, like a thunderclap, so loud and startling that it knocked both Draco and Ron to the ground, right on top of each other. All lights in the pentagram and the room went out instantly, leaving only the smell of burnt thistle in the room.

“Don’t give me that look,” Draco said.

“You can’t even see my face,” Ron said. “ _Lumios_.” He held up his wand. “Now you can see my face.” He peered over to look at the pentagram. The half-map sat in the centre, still missing its mate.

Draco sighed. “Well, it was worth a try. Alright, we’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, alright,” Ron said. “You head on out and I’ll clean up in here. But you’re cleaning up next time.”

“Really? That’s brilliant,” Draco said. “I’ll owe you a huge one. You’re saving me from being mum’s newest accessory!” He flashed a smile at Ron. Ron couldn’t help but smile back before he remembered himself and turned it into an _I am amused by Draco and his antics_ smile, which was infinitely preferable to _I am yet another of Draco’s many awestruck fans_ smile.

Ron turned back to the mess on the ground and began using a cleaning spell to carefully clean off the half-map. He rubbed absent-mindedly at his chest—it was a little sore. Except it was getting more tender, until it turned sharply painful: a combination of something squeezing inside and an inability to breath.

But then, everything stopped. Ron heard Draco was wheezing what seemed like an impossibly far distance away—gasping for breath. Before Ron could think twice, he was up and running over to Draco, who was slumped against the wall, just outside of Spelling Room #2.

“Are you ok—should I get help?” Ron asked, as Draco wheezed, his face contorted with pain. “Someone call a medi-wizard!”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Draco said and then he took a deep breath. And then another. “Actually,” he said slowly. “I am fine. I don’t know what that was.”

“Very odd,” Ron said. “Are you sure you’re ok? Do you want me to get someone?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Must have just been some air that I swallowed the wrong way,” he said as he stood up. “Anyways, I really don’t have time—I’m already so late.” And Draco started walking down the hallway, and the pain flared back up in Ron’s chest just as Draco began wheezing. Draco stopped. Turned around. Walked slowly back to Ron. For every step that he took, the pain decreased.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Draco said and put his face into his hands.

 

 

“Explain again what you think happened,” Manette, head of the Intelligence Unit, said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We were trying to do a tracing and recombination spell,” Draco said. Whenever something went wrong, Ron had found that it was best to let Draco try to sort it out. He always had a way of sounding earnest, like they had really tried, instead of sheepish and guilty, which was how Ron always sounded when he tried to explain.

“You know that we have wizards that specialize in tracking?” Manette said. “What am I saying? Of course you know, as I’ve told you this every time you’ve bollocksed up a spell before.”

“I think that the spell may just be inherently unstable. We knew that this would be a long shot, but we tried our best. I know for a fact that we drew the pentagram and circles correctly. We used fresh acanthus root and myrtle. We spread the one-third-by-volume potion of manioc and thistle over the pentagram,” Draco continued as if he hadn’t heard her. When he’d first started working with Draco, Ron had felt exceedingly annoyed by Draco’s ability to wilfully ignore bits of reality that he found particularly displeasing. But by now, he found it a little charming. It felt a bit like Stockholm Syndrome, if he was being honest with himself.

“Give me the solution,” Manette said. She sniffed the vial and then rubbed her temples. “Where did you get this potion from?”

“The potions department,” Draco answered warily.

“Well, this is not a manioc and thistle potion,” she said and then sighed again. “I don’t know what you two did, but my guess is that you have subjected yourselves instead of your map to a tracing and recombination spell—the spell is trying to bring the two of you together and when you attempt to subvert it, that is what is causing your pain. But we’ll have to run some tests to be sure. And since we have live subjects,” she glared at Draco and Ron, “we can’t just brute force our way to a proper cure. So, in the meantime, since no one is in imminent danger, you two will just have to deal with this for a few days.”

“What?” Ron said. Draco hadn’t even said anything, his eyes still wide with shock.

“You heard me,” Manette said. “Now, out of my office. Since you two gentlemen have so kindly put this on my lap, I will have to deal with it.” And the next thing that Ron knew, he and Draco were standing outside of Manette’s office.

“I feel that could have gone better,” Ron said. “What if we snatch one of the on-duty medi-wizards? They would be obligated to help us.”

“Come on,” Draco said, already a bored tone to his voice. “I guess that you’re going to be my date for the evening.”

“But,” Ron said, his mind still stuck on whatever had happened to them. “The spell. Shouldn’t we?”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Draco said. “Manette is right, we can handle it.”

“Handle it?” Ron says. “We can’t go more than five feet from each other. We couldn’t even handle the crowds at Diagon Alley.”

“Well then, let’s not go through Diagon Alley,” Draco huffed. He reached out and grabbed Ron’s wrist and started pulling him. Normally, Ron would have put up something of a fight against being manhandled, but he was so surprised by the warmth of Draco’s hand pressed against Ron’s skin that he froze up, putting up almost no resistance until they got to the lobby of the building.

“Wait,” Ron said. “Are you sure that this is a good idea? Because the last time that I saw your mom, she glared at me the entire time and said that she personally blamed me for your continued career.”

“It’ll be fine,” Draco said, in a placating tone.

 

 

Outside the Ministry, Draco apparated the two of them to an elegant manor and gardens. Even though the sun had long since set, the gardens were fully visible with soft lights that sparkled through tall and stately aspen trees as they approached. They had apparated inside the heavy, wrought-iron gates to the manor, in the middle of the gravel driveway. Ron heard faint sounds coming from the house, but it looked like they were quite the stragglers, with only two women standing near the front door, presumably waiting for latecomers such as Ron and Draco.

As Ron got closer, he saw that they were wearing full-length gowns, presumably made by some designer like Hildegarde Fareham or whomever Ginny was always going on about. He looked down at what he was wearing—standard work robes. And beneath that was even worse—a bland white shirt and trousers.

Draco, on the other hand, had managed to spell his robes neatly pressed and was wearing a shimmery grey shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, revealing Draco’s pale collarbone. Ron couldn’t help but stare at it for a long moment, idly, until he caught himself. Ron looked back down at his own outfit and sighed.  

“Let’s get this over with, yeah?” he said.

Draco pulled out an invitation and then hesitated. “Don’t tell my mom about the spell,” he said.

“How then, exactly, am I going to explain why I’m here?” Ron asked. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Malfoy, I just decided to do a spot of adventuring and happened to stumble upon this party where your son and also my partner happened to be at.”

“Well, I can’t tell her about the spell,” Draco said. “She already gives me enough grief about being an Auror. And that’s with me fudging how much work we really do at a desk. She thinks that we largely file paperwork on behalf of people like Harry.”

“And dating me is the better alternative?” Ron asked. “I’m pretty sure that your mum doesn’t like me and would infinitely prefer that her son be stuck with me due to a spell rather than choice.”

Draco gave Ron a look that said that this was how it was going to go down and Ron could either get with the program or not. Ron rolled his eyes. “Only your mum,” he said.

“Absolutely,” Draco said. “I am the soul of discretion.” And then he pulled Ron towards the entrance before Ron could snort at Draco’s complete lie.

 

 

They had barely handed off their coats when Mrs. Malfoy descended on them, having apparently scented out their arrival from across the room.

“Draco, darling!” Mrs. Malfoy said, drawing Draco into a hug. “Whatever kept you? You’ll never guess who I saw here tonight—Ivah Greenley—who you must remember from school. She was a year behind you—her father owns Universal Brooms Limited. I also saw Evangeline Jardine, looking absolutely lovely.”

When she finally pulled back from the hug to see Ron standing there, her brows drew together in slight consternation before she smoothed them out with a smile on her face.

“Ronald Weasley, what a surprise,” she said.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Ron said. “It’s good to see you.” It was a lie—she knew it, Ron knew it, but they both smiled through it.

“What brings you to the Annual Benefit to End Hydrapestis?” Mrs. Malfoy said. “I wasn’t aware that this was a particular passion of yours.”

Before Ron could reply, Draco smoothly stepped in. “Didn’t I mention?” Draco said nonchalantly. “Ron is here as my date.”

“As your date?” Mrs. Malfoy said slowly, her eyebrows rising.

“Yes, but since we do work together, I’d appreciate if you kept this on the hush hush,” Draco said. Mrs. Malfoy’s eyebrows were almost at her hairline at this point. “Oh, I think that I see Blaise—we’ll talk to you later!”

He dragged Ron with him before Ron could say something particularly incriminating like, “He’s your son, he gets all his lunacy from you.”

“You’re just making this more painful for yourself in the long run,” Ron said once they made it to the bar. Unsurprisingly, Blaise Zabini was nowhere in sight.

“Nonsense,” Draco said. “My plan is sure to succeed.”

“Like your plan regarding the tracking spell?”

“A minor set-back,” Draco said and then handed Ron a thin glass of something blue and green from the bartender. He took one for himself and then thanked the bartender. “But is this really so bad?”

Ron took a sip of the green-blue drink. It was surprisingly good—refreshing even. A waiter came by with a tray of small mushroom tarts. Right behind him was another waiter with a tray of what appeared to be seared scallops. “Alright, it’s not so bad,” Ron said, regretting it even as he said it, when Draco looked incredibly smug next to him.

 

They spent most of the evening holed up in one of the corners near the dance floor where they could sneak food off of the trays coming out of the kitchen without making themselves too obvious. They made occasional forays out of their corner back to the bar for more of the green-blue drink of the evening, which Ron only figured out were surprisingly alcoholic on his fourth glass.

Although Ron only have admitted it under Veritaserum, he was having a pretty good time. When Ron had first been assigned Draco as his partner, they’d had a rough go of it. The war may have been over for a decade, but some scars were surprisingly fresh. Especially the ones from high school.

Ron had tried to change partners. Draco had tried to change partners. They’d spent months hissing insults under their breath any time they had to be in the same room (which was all the time). And then Manette had taken him aside and bluntly told him that if he couldn’t hack it with Draco, it couldn’t hack it as an Auror.

“There are worse people in this department than Draco,” Manette had said and held up her hand when Ron had started protesting. “Draco isn’t a bad sort. Yes, he’s done bad things—and no, you don’t have to tell me what they are since you’ve already filled my inbox with them. But he’s a good Auror and as far as I can tell, the last time that he did something egregious to you it was ten years ago.”

Ron had stood there, his lips pulled tight, blood boiling, ready to fight to death to defend his right to a Malfoy-free existence. And then Manette had sighed. “Look, if you make it to the year-mark, I’ll reassign you. If you can’t make it until then, do you really think that you’re cut out for this job? We can’t always choose who we end up with.”

Ron had gone home that night spoiling for a fight. Harry had been out, which had made it worse, because Harry was always up for alternatively finding a fight or starting one himself. So instead Ron had fumed inside their tiny flat, clattering the tea kettle, banging doors and stomping around. But when he got into bed, all eight million of the retorts that he’d thought up to say to Manette on the tip of his tongue, it hit him that if he didn’t get his act together, he could lose being an Auror. And yeah, he hated Draco. But he didn’t hate Draco more than he hated an Auror.

So, the next morning, Ron had swallowed his pride and taken Draco to the side. “Look, mate, I just want to apologize,” Ron said. The words came out a little stiffly, but they were there and that was all that mattered. “I haven’t been a great partner to you, but I want to fix that going forward.”

Draco had stared at him, open-mouthed, which had been a feat in and of itself. Draco always seemed to have the perfect retort and to have him there, unable to think of a snappy comeback, it did fill a small part of Ron with joy.

“I—uh,” Draco started after a minute. “I should probably also apologize.” He had a look on his face like he was eating vinegar and it was enough that Ron had to bite the side of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Maybe grab a pint after work tonight—just catch up?” Ron had suggested.

Draco had looked at Ron for a long moment and then looked up to the heavens. “Why not?” he said, and Ron would have been insulted but Draco was smiling helplessly as he said it.

After that, the hostilities had largely halted—held off by a ceasefire at first and then a real alliance had sprung, built upon weekly trips to the pub after work and intense casework. When Manette had come to Ron at the end of the year, willing to switch partners, Ron had—to his eternal amazement—actually turned her down.

“You want to what now?” Manette had said.

“I would like to stay with Draco,” Ron had said patiently. Manette had shaken her head, muttered a few choice words about Merlin under her breath, and then sighed.

That had been that.

Slowly, they’d become actual friends, the kind that ate together at restaurants or met up on their days off. But still, they’d never been the kind of friends who went to old wizarding gala events. Although clearly, as evidenced by Draco’s willingness to drag Ron to this one, that was about to change.

Ron was starting to feel a bit warm when he looked at his drink accusingly. “Are these strong?” he asked.

“Well of course, they’re strong,” Draco said, mock offended. “What kind of event do you think this is? A Hogwarts afterparty? Do you have butter beer hidden in your robe? Should I keep an eye out for McGonagall?”

As Ron was laughing at Draco’s theatricality, a woman walked up to them. She was about their age, her hair curled back into an elaborate updo.

“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” she said. “I don’t know if you remember me—I was a few years younger than you at Hogwarts. I loved going to your quidditch games. You were an amazing seeker. So talented.”

Ron raised an eyebrow and looked at Draco. “So talented,” he mouthed, trying not to laugh. Draco glared at him and then focused on the woman in front of him.

“Yes, of course—it’s lovely to see you again. I apologize, but I’ve forgotten your name,” he said, reaching out a hand for her to shake.

The woman jumped on the opportunity, eagerly taking Draco’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically. This was about the time that Ron wished that he could start carefully backing away. Although, a not insignificant part of Ron was kind of looking forward to staying and seeing how this situation would implode.

“Evangeline Jardine,” she said, looking delighted. “Would you be interested in a dance.”

Draco looked at Ron. Ron looked back at him, trying not to laugh at how Draco would get himself out of this mess.

“I haven’t danced in quite some time and my friend here—” Draco started.

“Oh, please don’t think that you have to impress me,” Evangeline interrupted. “But, oh, I hadn’t considered your friend. I do apologize.”

“No, no, no,” Ron said, unable to keep a smile off his face. “Draco, please don’t feel like you can’t dance with Ms. Jardine on my behalf. I’m happy to wait.”

Draco very carefully smiled through the clenching of his jaw. “I’m so sorry, Evangeline,” Draco said and then he glanced back at Ron with a wicked look on his face. “But I am already spoken for. Mr. Weasley is being altogether too kind—I promised him that I would dance with him for the rest of the evening.”

“I understand!” Evangeline said, perhaps a little too fervently, because then she looked starstruck at Ron in the same way that she had been looking at Draco. Ron did not like it at all.

“Yes, come, Ronald,” Draco said blithely. Ron hated when Draco called him Ronald, which Draco most certainly knew.

So, of course, Ron was the one grinding his teeth as they moved out to the dance floor. Draco held his arms out. Ron wanted to cross his arms and ignore him, but there was something open and hopeful in Draco’s face. Ron sighed and took Draco’s proffered hand.

Ron lead for the first dance, Draco making a pleased sound of surprised when Ron knew the steps. “Veela foxtrot,” Draco said appreciatively.

“Mum was always going on about them,” Ron said. “The dancing that is—not veela. Although she did for a bit after Bill and Fleur got married, you know.”  

“I learn new things about you every day,” Draco said and when Ron squinted at him, it even appeared to be genuine.

They didn’t speak much during the first dance. For the second, a Grecian waltz, Draco led, his right hand against Ron’s back, holding Ron snug against Draco. Ron prayed to Merlin that he wouldn’t blush, but it was too late, heat flooding Ron’s face, his neck, his chest, everywhere.

After the third dance, a lively quickstep, Draco and Ron retreated back to the bar for another round.

“Is this a good idea,” Ron asked, even as he took another drink.

“Absolutely,” Draco said confidently. “Do I not always have good ideas?”

“The time with the murtlaps?” Ron asked. “Total disaster.”

“Not as bad as the time that you though that the demiguise was going to eat you,” Draco said. “That was just embarrassing.”

“But not a disaster of a case,” Ron said triumphantly. “Take that. Also, that time that you tried to convince Manette that we could get a warrant for the records of that shipping company solely based on the fact that you’d thought that a place that dirty must have been hiding something.”

“I maintain that they were a health violation, if nothing else,” Draco said, but he was laughing now, his smile lighting up his face in a way that made Ron want to lean in and kiss him.

Ron mentally shook himself and then took a long sip from his glass. “Not that I’m complaining about the free food and drinks, but how long are we expected to stay. I’m starting to feel a bit knackered.”

Draco took a look around the room. “I don’t see Mum, let’s make a break for it?”

Ron smiled and then they both, as if on cue, finished their drinks.

In all likelihood, Narcissa wouldn’t have cared that they were leaving, but they bolted for the door, as if they had a Hungarian horntail behind them. When they got outside, they were breathless from the exercise and laughing.

“Alright, your place or mine?” Draco asked. The words were so casual that Ron didn’t register them for a minute and then, like a searing brand, he blushed—his face burning wickedly.

That definitely wasn’t what Draco had meant, Ron forcefully told himself. Draco had absolutely zero interest in Ron outside of friendship and that was fine. It was totally fine. _Completely and totally fine_.

“If it’s all the same, I think that I would prefer mine,” Ron said. “Not all of us brought a change of clothes for after work.”

 

 

Ron’s place wasn’t all that much to look at on the outside. It was on the third storey of a small building in northeast London but it had had a decent amount of space and a nice little private garden in the back. Draco had been by once or twice prior, so when they arrived, Draco immediately set about making himself at home.

Ron immediately set forth for the kitchen to make some tea, but he hadn’t got too far when there was a painful twinge in his chest and Draco sprang up suddenly from the couch.

“I’m so sorry,” Ron said immediately. “I wasn’t thinking for a moment.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner,” Draco said. “Here, I’ll come with you to the kitchen.”

The decent amount of space didn’t extend to the kitchen, so Ron had the excruciating pleasure of having Draco half a step behind him, opening up cabinets and peeking into drawers. “Looking for anything in particular?” Ron asked.

Draco didn’t even look guilty. “Just curious,” he said.

“Curious about what the high and mighty Ron Weasley has in his cupboards?” Ron asked sarcastically.

“No—I,” Draco started, a bit horrified and Ron instantly felt bad. “I was just—just really being a nosy person. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Ron said. “I’m sorry—I was just being sarcastic.” But their usual camaraderie was gone, replaced by an odd awkwardness, so Ron turned and busied himself making tea, always aware of Draco just a few steps away.

When the tea was ready, they went out to the living room and sat down on the couch. Once they had sat, everything seemed back on even terrain again—comfortable and familiar. Ron stretched out his legs onto the coffee table and Draco kicked off his shoes and spread out on the couch, folding his knees so that his toes just missed hitting Ron’s leg.

Both of them were tired and it wasn’t too long before they were yawning.

“Bed?” Ron asked Draco.

“Bed,” Draco agreed.  

 

 

It wasn’t accurate to say that Ron had never seen Draco undressed—they’d seen each other changing occasionally over the years. But Ron hadn’t ever seen Draco undressed in his flat before and—well, it gave his body certain ideas. Especially when Draco borrowed a pair of Ron’s sleep pants and shirt, so that Ron got to watch Draco not only take off his clothing but put Ron’s clothing back on.

Draco, for his part, seemed utterly unperturbed, except when it came to choosing sides of the bed, for which he seemed very insistent about.

Once they both got under the covers of Ron’s bed, Ron whispered for the lights to turn off.

“G’night, Draco,” Ron said quietly.

“Goodnight, Ron,” Draco said back. And then all was quiet. Ron found himself listening to Draco breathe in and out and before he knew it, it had lulled him to sleep.

 

 

 

Ron woke up the next morning gloriously warm and cocooned. When he turned, he discovered that it was because he and Draco had shifted towards the middle of the bed in the middle of the night and now Draco was pressed up against Ron’s side, like the world’s best heating spell.

For a long minute, Ron let himself watch Draco, his hair tousled and falling in his eyes, his face relaxed. He was halfway considering going back to sleep when a tapping at the window caught his attention. There was an owl there with his morning copy of the Daily Prophet.

After a quick calculation of the distance to the window, Ron decided to brave it, and grabbed a knut from his bedside table. When he took the paper from the owl, Ron froze at the front page, only moving when the owl began pecking him for the knut. Ron handed it over and the owl speedily took off. Ron wished that he could do the same as he locked the window.

There on the front page of the Daily Prophet was a picture of Ron and Draco, Draco clearly holding Ron’s hand. DRACO MALFOY FINDS LOVE, the headline helpfully stated. Immediately below the picture, the caption read, _Ronald Weasley, one of the key figures in You-Know-Who’s downfall, has found love with socialite and ex-Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, shown here at the Annual Benefit to End Hydrapestis_.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ron said, sitting back down on the bed.

“Socialite?” Draco said, outraged as he pushed himself up and leaned over Ron’s shoulder. “I’ve been an Auror for ten years!”

“Yes, that’s clearly what’s objectionable about this,” Ron said. “Your mum would be delighted that you’re thought of as a socialite first, Auror second. Oh god, your mum. My mum. My mum is going to kill me.”

In response, an owl flew up to Ron’s window. And then another owl. And another. Pretty soon there were a dozen owls and counting outside Ron’s window.

“Maybe she’s taking this well?” Draco suggested.

As if on cue, Ron’s mum voice filled the air in Ron’s flat. “Ronald Weasley,” Ron’s mum said angrily. “I have to find out through The Daily Prophet that you have a boyfriend? How could you do that? I would have been delighted to meet your boyfriend, whomever he is, if you had just told me! Can you imagine what it was like to have the very first thing that I saw this morning be you and Draco Malfoy on the front page of The Daily Prophet. The front page! Do you think that I wouldn’t support you? What kind of mother would I be, not supporting her son?”

“Floo,” Ron said, wishing that he’d had some sort of premonition about this whole thing and disconnected it from the network.

“Ah well,” Draco said equanimously. “At least you know that she would be supportive of our relationship.”

 

 

Draco and Ron strategized as they ate breakfast. “I say that we just make a public statement,” Ron argued. “Tell them that we’re not actually together, it’s all a misunderstanding.”

“What happens when we are physically unable to be out of each other’s presence for the next couple days?” Draco says. “Then we look even worse. We don’t make any statement about it—people will realize that it’s all been a great misunderstanding down the road.”

“We tell them that it was a spell went wrong,” Ron said.

“I bet Manette will love that,” Draco said. “I can just see it now.” He splayed his hand out wide, gesturing as if he could set the scene by sheer will. Manette would be pissed if two Aurors issued a statement to the public concerning the Ministry of Magic without internal approval. Ron took a deep breath in. Then another. He could feel the start of a headache peeking around his temples.

“And what do you suggest, Draco?” Ron asked. “From where I’m looking, we don’t have a lot of options here.”

“We just play coy,” Draco said. “We don’t say anything. And eventually, it will just die down.”

“See, I know that won’t happen and you know that won’t happen. That’s a terrible idea,” Ron said. “T-E-R-R-I-B-L-E.”

“Yes, I know how to spell,” Draco said. “We did both attend school together, if you’ve forgotten.”

“They didn’t teach spelling there,” Ron said, feeling as if he’d at least managed a minor point.

“But we did have to write,” Draco said. “Which appears to involve the act of spelling.”

Ron turned to the side and screamed into his robe until he felt marginally better. When he turned back to Draco, Draco looked amused, his lips pressed together tightly. Draco didn’t say anything, just kept staring back at Ron. Ron stared back at him. “Merlin help me,” he said finally. “Fine.”

 

 

Unsurprisingly, the press was waiting for them outside the Ministry of Magic when they arrived.

“Mr. Malfoy, any comment on your relationship with Ronald Weasley?”

“Ron, is it true that you’ve been dating since you partnered as Aurors?”

“Are you planning on getting married?”

“Does this affect your work as Aurors?”

Bloody hell, Ron wanted to curse himself. Draco just smiled politely and ignored everyone, marching forward towards the entrance to the Ministry. Ron moved as quickly as he could, not nearly as graceful as Draco is as dodging through people. As they moved, Ron couldn’t help but be aware of Draco’s exact location, pinging gently against the edges of his concentration, as if Draco were the North Star that Ron was oriented around.

Once they made it inside, Manette was waiting for them, her foot tapping angrily. “I suppose we have you to thank for our guests today,” she said, gesturing outside. “How did you manage to create so much trouble in such little time?”

“We’re just lucky, I suppose,” Ron said and then immediately shut his mouth when Manette glared at him.

“My office, now,” Manette said, her voice low and deadly, and Draco and Ron quietly followed her through the Ministry towards her office. As they went, people in the hallway stopped and stared at them, whispering to each other. It reminded Ron all over again of the end of the wizarding wars—when Harry, Hermione and he were all that anyone could talk about—reporters coming to the Burrow or following them around.

Halfway to Manette’s office, Manette stomping and several feet ahead of them, Draco reached out and gently touched Ron’s arm. The touch shocked Ron and he froze for a second before he looked over at Draco.

Draco was concerned—the most concerned that Ron had seen since this had all happened. “Are you alright?” Draco asked quietly. “I wasn’t thinking earlier about—about all this. I should have listened to you.”

“No, no,” Ron said, forcing a smile on to his face. “You were right—there wasn’t a better way to handle it.”

“There was definitely a better way to handle it,” Manette said, up ahead of them. “By not going out and doing something stupid last night. Gentlemen,” she said, opening up her office door and gesturing that they go inside.

Once the doors closed, Manette looked furious and promptly chewed them out for the next ten minutes. She hit such classics as “You are representatives of the Ministry and must act with respect for the Ministry at all times,” soon to be new hits such as “Do you know what issues you’ve created in terms of conflicts for your partnership?” and oldies but goodies like “Can I ever rely on you to use your discretion and judgment?”

Only once she’d wound down and took several deep, calming breaths, did she stop berating them. “The Counter-Potions Department is working on the potion that you used. They’ve promised me that they’ll let me know as soon as they figure out the counter-potion. Now get out of here. And use some bloody discretion!”

Ron didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to leave Manette’s office. “Seems like she’s a bit worked up,” Draco said with a faux-studied air. It was so absurd that Ron couldn’t help but chuckle and soon he was full-on laughing, Draco’s face going from confused to amused to laughter as well. When they finally managed to catch their breaths, Ron cocked his head at Draco back towards the Aurors bullpen and they retreated before Manette came back out of her office to yell at them for a second time.

“Oi, Weasley,” Lila Ferndown said across the way. “You’re punching above your weight there.” She gestured towards Malfoy, her lips in an easy smile. She hadn’t meant anything bad by it and yet Ron felt his face immediately flame. Next to him, he saw Malfoy look uneasily about the room. It wasn’t that Draco didn’t fit in as an Auror. He did and was highly regarded. But he wasn’t one of them—he was accepted and liked, but only from a distance. Never was it clearer than right now.

“Haven’t you heard, I’m quite the catch,” Ron said back as smoothly as he could. “The Daily Mail pointed out my distinguished career.”

“I believe that the exact words were hero,” Draco pointed out next to him. He was smiling uncertainly.

“See that,” Ron said. “Draco thinks that I’m a hero. I might even go as far as to say that he’s got a bit of hero-worship.”

“Yeah, if that’s what you have to tell yourself to sleep at night,” Ferndown said, laughing.

 

 

For a little while, it was easy to forget about everything—the mixed-up spell, the media and to just focus on their job. After all, they’d gotten the correct potion in hand and together they reserved a spelling room and set about recreating the spell again.

Once they’d set up the pentagram, acanthus and myrtle, Draco set about applying the potion. Once they were done, they took a deep breath and Ron said, “ _Propellium res_.”

The pentagram glowed and within a few minutes, a piece of parchment appeared in the room, one of its edges jagged. Ron couldn’t keep the huge smile off his face and when he looked over at Draco, Draco had one that mirrored Ron’s own.

“We did it!” Ron said and got down on his knees to examine the two map pieces. Draco joined him not a second later, and he squeezed next to Ron to be able to view it from the same angle. Ron was immediately and viscerally aware of Draco, but he forced his attention back down to the ground.

Together, the two pieces of the map showed a detailed map of magical Edinburgh as it was in 1845, with specifically highlighted sections that showed where caches of illegally imported potions and ingredients had been stored in hidden and secret-kept locations. The potions and ingredients had all but certainly been removed in the one hundred and fifty years or so since the map’s creation, but someone had recently started storing their own ill-gotten supplies in there.

“D’you reckon that this will actually give us good results?” Ron asked Draco.

“Certainly can’t hurt,” Draco said.

Paperwork would have to be filed and warrants obtained before they could actually investigate the locations, but still, it was forward progress, and at least the paperwork was a sufficient distraction. If their colleagues felt the occasional need to drop by and make comments about their alleged relationship, well, at least Draco seemed to easily brush it off. All the jokes about it made Ron feel slightly queasy. Everyone seemed to assume it was some big joke, but what if they had been in a relationship? Was that all that everyone could see? Ron, the eternally hapless, being no match for Draco?

“Everything alright?” Draco asked after Nigel in Magical Animal Management took his own attempt at comedy.

“Yeah, fine,” Ron said. “Just tired.” Draco looked a little guilty at that, so Ron changed the subject.

 

 

When they wrapped up for the day, Draco turned to Ron. “Your place again?”

“Do you mind?” Ron asked. Draco gave a half-shrug, a graceful tilt of his shoulder up that left Ron’s mouth dry.

“Honestly, I think that I prefer your place to mine,” Draco said. “If you don’t mind.”

“No, definitely not,” Ron said, too quickly, and then they both stood there awkwardly. “Right. Shall we?”

 

They picked up some food on the way, neither one of them much up to the task of cooking, and when they got to Ron’s apartment, Ron was surprised to see Harry waiting in front of the door.

“Harry,” Ron said cautiously.

“Ron,” Harry said, his voice a little tight. He flicked his eyes over to Draco. “Draco.”

Draco murmured something back. No one moved for a long second as Ron flipped through various explanations in his mind.

“Maybe we should go inside,” Draco suggested, which Harry and Ron eagerly latched onto.

“So, is it true?” Harry asked once the door was closed behind Ron.

“Er,” Ron said.

“Did you think that I would get upset?” Harry asked.

“Er,” Ron said.

“Draco, mate, I’m sorry, but can you give us a minute?” Harry asked.

Draco looked over at Ron, his lips quirked into a question. Ron closed his eyes tightly and desperately he wished that he was anywhere else, even back at that horrible cave with spiders outside of Hogwarts. But when he opened his eyes, Harry and Draco were still standing there, watching him, in his living room.

Draco made a slight shooing motion to indicate that Ron should just go ahead and tell Harry.

Ron took a deep breath. “Anything that you can say to me, you can say to Draco,” he said firmly. Draco rolled his eyes up to the heavens and then dropped his face into his palm.

“So, it’s true,” Harry said slowly.

Ron knew that of all people, he should tell Harry the truth. There was absolutely no reason not to tell him! He would never tell anyone. And he was Ron’s best friend—if anyone deserved the truth, it was him. But Ron couldn’t stop thinking about everyone’s reaction at the Ministry and before he could think about it, he heard himself saying. “Yes, it is true. Do you want to make fun of me like everyone else today?”

There was a little intake of air from Ron’s left where Draco was, but Ron couldn’t look away from Harry as his eyes went wide with shock. “What?” Harry said, sputtering, “Of course not! I’m a little hurt why you didn’t tell me first, but I understand why. I just—I want to be there for you. For you and Draco.”

Ron felt something inside of him melt—of course, Harry would be dependable and supportive. He was Ron’s best friend.

“Harry,” he started, already regretting lying to him.

“In fact,” Harry interrupted, turning and wildly rummaging through Draco’s cabinets until he’d found what he was look for, which he held up in triumph, “I think that we should celebrate.”

Harry handed the bottle of Swott Malt Whiskey (aged twenty-eight years) to Ron, who accepted it dumbly, and then pulled out of Ron’s cupboard three glasses with a flourish. Before Ron could protest or try to explain, Harry had already taken the bottle back and poured out three shots.

“To Ron and Draco,” Harry said, smiling. And then there was nothing else for Ron to do but close his eyes and clink his glass against Draco’s and Harry’s glasses.

Ron took a big gulp of the whisky and felt it burn on the way down. Harry immediately topped Ron off and then raised his glass again. “Draco, I know that we haven’t always been the closest, but I think that you and Ron are really good together,” he said.

Draco looked at Ron, his eyes slightly panicked, but he dutifully raised his glass, “I—I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my past. Thank you for moving past them.” They clinked their glasses so Ron rushed to join them and then they all together another big gulp of their whiskey. Harry topped them off again and Ron felt like he was now required to make his own toast.

“Thank you both for being my best friend and my,” Ron stumbled over the word, “boyfriend. You’re the best of either that I could hope to have.”

After they toasted that one, Harry looked at Ron with such affection and emotion at Ron’s words that Ron gave up on trying to do the right thing and finished off his entire glass.

Unfortunately, the toasting didn’t end there. Harry rallied for another round of toasting and by that point, Draco had stopped looking quite as twitchy, and was actually smiling, as if he was enjoying himself. So, Ron relaxed a little bit and figured that he’d figure out how to explain to Harry another time. He’d had enough whisky that it felt like it would work—it always had worked out before, it seemed likely that it would happen again.

At some point, Ron took out the takeaway that he and Draco had picked up and all three of them sat down in the living room and ate bites of Indian food in between further toasts. They’d become a bit silly—toasting as to all of their successes as Aurors and to Narcissa eventually liking Ron—but it was nice.

 

At some point, Harry looked at the time and let out a gasp. “Oh fuck,” he said. “It’s midnight—I’ve got to be getting home.” He stood up a bit unsteadily, his hands reaching out for the arm of the chair to keep his balance.

“Are you sure that you’re ok to apparate in that condition?” Ron asked.

“Definitely not,” Harry said, laughing. “But I’m just going to walk down to the street and catch a cab. Muggle-style. You two try not to have too much fun after I leave.” And saying that, he gave the two of them a very drunk and salacious wink that left Ron feeling scandalized. Meanwhile, Draco was laughing his arse off.

Once Harry had left, Ron turned to Draco. “It’s not funny!” he said.

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Draco said, wiping his eyes. “Your best friend thinks that we are about to get down and dirty.”

“I will never live this down,” Ron said, but he was smiling too.

“It’s not that bad of a thought, is it?” Draco asked, one eyebrow raised. All of a sudden, Ron realized just how close Draco was, a mere few inches away on the couch, and he’d angled his body towards Ron. He was looking at Ron speculatively, and Ron wanted to make a joke, return some levity back into the conversation. But Ron couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t think past the dark grey of Draco’s eyes, the hint of shadow that he had on his jawline.

“No, it’s not that bad of a thought,” Ron said, his voice coming out deep and quiet. And then Draco leaned in as Ron did the same, until they were both breathing the same air. And then Draco kissed him. It was the sizzle of magic, the excitement of butterbeer for the first time, a win in wizarding chess. It was a riot of happiness and something else that Ron wouldn’t let himself describe, so instead he just let himself be carried away.

Draco kissed Ron like he did most things—there was no hint of hesitation, just desire, and Ron opened his mouth to Draco’s as Ron slowly maneuvered them into a more comfortable position on the couch. Each kiss felt like a glorious eternity, a full evening of happiness, and when they pulled back every so often, Ron couldn’t help but marvel that the world was still going on—surely if Draco were kissing him, the world must have ended.

But no, there they were, kissing, and Draco was smiling when Ron pulled back to look at him, so it must have been alright even if Ron couldn’t follow the logic in any of it.

They kissed on the couch until they were both too sleepy and starting to yawn. Ron wedged himself between Draco and the couch and Draco settled into him. “Let’s just stay here for a few minutes,” Ron said sleepily into Draco’s hair.

Draco made a sound of agreement and then they were both asleep.

 

When Ron woke up next, they were still pressed together on the couch, but it was well past the middle of the night and the whisky was starting to catch up with him, his head already beginning to pound faintly. Ron sat up and carefully extricated himself from the couch to get his wand on his coffee table. He cast a quiet _reparifor vocatus_ on himself and then Draco.

After, his head felt better, but everything else felt worse in the cold sobriety of the middle of the night. He’d—kissed—Draco. Draco had kissed him. Had it just been the alcohol on Draco’s part? Merlin, Ron wished that he were still drunk and didn’t have to think about this until morning.

Eventually it became clear that no further answers would be had and Ron didn’t exactly fancy the thought of spending the night on his couch, so he carefully shook Draco awake. Draco didn’t do much more than sleepily protest the intrusion, but he did allow Ron to help him up and he threw his arm over Ron’s shoulder so Ron was half-carrying him to the bedroom.

Before Ron could even say anything, Draco was back out again, so Ron sighed and then got in his side of the bed and went back to sleep.

 

 

The next morning was awkward to say the least. Ron woke to Draco sitting on the edge of the bed, nervously worrying his lower lip, as he watched Ron. All of a sudden, Ron didn’t want to discuss last night.

“It’s too early for this,” Ron said and then buried his head under his pillow.

“I think that we should talk about this,” Draco said.

“No, I really don’t think that we should,” Ron said. He sat up and Draco was still looking at him. “Come on, we’re going to be late for work.”

“But—” Draco started and then cut himself off. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Neither one of them spoke as they got ready or made their way into the office and it made Ron’s skin feel itchy. He could only imagine how much Draco was regretting last night—Ron had gone and ruined one of the best working relationships that he’d ever had. And for what? For letting his drunken feelings take the reins? Merlin, what must Draco be thinking of Ron? But even knowing what Draco was thinking, Ron couldn’t bear to hear it out loud. Some part of him was still holding out hope, still riding the high of _kissing Draco_ from last night and he just didn’t think that he could handle breaking that part of himself.

 

 

There was a memo waiting for them by their desks when they got into work from Manette directing them to go to her office. Ron exchanged a look at Draco and, for a brief second, it felt normal, before Draco’s eyes darted away and Ron was queasy all over again.

Manette motioned them in when they appeared at her door and she gestured for them to take a seat. “I have good news, gentlemen, although I am loathe to give it to you after the headache that you’ve caused. Counter-Potions has analysed your spell and potion. They’ve located some new-moon gathered hyssop and fresh lovage which they’ll use in an un-binding spell.”

Ron felt his stomach drop and he couldn’t help but look over at Draco, who was intently looking down at his hands.

“They can do it today,” Manette said, leadingly.

“Great!” Ron said as enthusiastically as he could muster. It wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm.

Manette looked at Ron critically. “Somehow, I thought that the two of you would be more pleased about this news.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Draco echoed and Manette cocked her head.

“Right, well, make sure you sort it out with Counter-Potions,” she said after neither Draco nor Ron said anything further.

“Of course,” Ron said.

 

 

“So, do you want to go to Counter-Potions this afternoon?” Ron asked once they’d left Manette’s office.

“Why not go now?” Draco said, his voice challenging. “Since you have all but shouted to the Ministry how much you hate this.”

“It’s not that I hate this,” Ron said. “It’s just—it’ll be good to get some space again, right?” But Draco had already turned away and was ignoring Ron. “Draco,” Ron tried and then sighed. “Fine, let’s get it done.”

 

 

Counter-Potions was a few floors down in a sprawling set of rooms and laboratories that never seemed to see daylight no matter how many windows they kept spelling onto the walls.

“Oi, Bernard,” Ron said, grabbing the first person that he’d recognized since they’d come down to the floor. “We need to get a counter-potion, who do we see?”

Bernard nodded at Ron. “Hi Ron, Draco, I can probably grab it—do you know what it’s for?”

“To undo a binding spell,” Draco said, his voice dripping with irritation. Ron elbowed Draco and Draco shut up but threw Ron a fierce glare.

“I think that Manette arranged it—it’ll be for an un-binding and should contain hyssop and lovage.”

“Ah, yeah, makes sense—let me see if I can track that down. Why don’t you guys wait here?” Bernard said and then disappeared into the maze of potions equipment and desks.

“Do you think that we’ll ever see him again?” Ron said, trying for humour. Draco didn’t respond. “Look, you were right. Maybe we should talk about it.”

“No,” Draco said abruptly, his voice pitched low enough to come out like a hiss. “You made your position on that perfectly clear this morning. How perfectly like you, Ron, to act and only after then reflect upon your actions.”

Even though Ron knew that Draco probably didn’t mean it, the accusation that he’d flung out still hurt. “I’m sorry,” Ron said slowly.

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t cut it,” Draco said. “Oh good, Bernard’s back. I can’t wait for this to be done. At this point, I would take a rock’s company over yours.”

“Here we are,” Bernard said when he emerged, triumphantly carrying two small potions bottles filled with a pale blue liquid. It kind of reminded Ron of the drinks at Draco’s benefit. Had that really only been two days ago? “What’s the unbinding for?”

“For ourselves,” Ron said and Bernard’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, well, of course,” he said and then cast a long look at the potion bottles. “So, you’re going to want to each down a bottle and then watch for any side effects. The initial binding should wear off a few hours after you drink it.”

“Great,” Draco said and grabbed for one of the bottles. He uncorked the bottle and immediately chugged it, Ron helpless to watch anything but Draco’s throat working as he swallowed. Merlin, if only he’d gone back and time and killed himself it would have been less painful.

“Er,” Ron said.

“What are you waiting for?” Draco said. “For me to make a bigger fool of myself? For the whole Ministry to have a laugh at me?”

Ron quickly took the other bottle and drank it all down.

“Wonderful,” Bernard said. “Please let us know if there are any side effects—appendages turning blue, susceptibility to dragon pox, sneezing, the usual, really.” And then he took the two bottles from them and disappeared back into the mayhem of Counter-Potions.

“Draco,” Ron said quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Draco said through gritted teeth and so they headed back upstairs in complete silence. For a few hours, they continued to work in silence and Ron wanted to say something, anything, to fix what he’s broken, to make Draco understand just how sorry he was, but he couldn’t find the words.

Finally, when everyone else seemed to have disappeared for their lunch breaks, Draco stood up. “I’m going to see if the spell has been reversed.”

“Wait!” Ron said—or started to say—but Draco was already moving away. He took the first few steps hesitantly, but when there was no echoing pain, he took another step and then another one until he was soon at the edge of the room.

“It works,” Draco said, but he didn’t sound triumphant, just tired. Tired and exhausted. “If anyone asks, I’m taking a half-day,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he turned around and left.

For the rest of the afternoon, Ron felt like he was missing some part of himself, like a limb that he’d forgotten about. To top it off, everyone felt the need to comment about where his other half had suddenly gone missing to. “The mister annoyed with you already?” Ferndown asked when she came back from her lunch break.

“More than you can know,” Ron said and it must have sounded close enough to a joke because Ferndown laughed at that one and slapped Ron on the back.

“Oh, Weasley, never change,” she said fondly.

 

When Ron went home, his flat felt empty and lonely, even as Ron aggressively reminded himself that Draco had only stayed there for two nights. But still, it had felt homier, happier when Draco was there, laughing with Ron on his couch, sleeping on the other side of the bed or grumpy with Ron in the morning. It was just so unfair—he’d been shown what was possible, only to have it all pulled away.

And then, of course, Ron woke up the next morning to The Daily Prophet’s latest headline: _TROULBE IN PARADISE?_ accompanied by two distinct pictures of Draco and Ron separately leaving the Ministry, both of them scowling.

Ron quickly spelled his Floo to disconnect just in case anyone got any ideas.

 

At work, Draco was irritable, angry and refused to make eye contact with Ron. Something heavy and horrible curled in Ron’s stomach, but he kept his mouth closed, unwilling to make the situation any worse than it had to be.

At home, Ron was alone—despite the best efforts of people to drop in on him. Ron steadfastly spent the rest of the week and the weekend ignoring any owls that came to his door or messages from Harry, Hermione or his family.

Together, he and Draco reached a new low when they had to go and conduct an interview out in Prescotton, a small wizarding town in the Chilterns. They portkeyed there but only after an extremely awkward moment where Ron and Draco both realized at once that they would need to touch in order for the portkey to take both of them. When Ron started to reach out, Draco visibly flinched, and Ron wished that the ground would just swallow him up right then and there.

“I’ll just—I’m going to just grab the edge of your robe,” Ron said, telecasting his movement. Draco watched him move, his eyes unblinking, but he didn’t protest, and then Draco reached out for the portkey. Once they were safely in the streets of Prescotton, Draco immediately stepped back, his face turned away from Ron.

“Come on, we don’t have all day to dawdle,” Draco said, as if Ron had somehow caused a giant back up by taking two seconds to orient himself.

“Of course,” Ron said and then sighed to himself.

 

And so it went.

 

 

A scroll zinged its way towards their desks and Ron reached out a hand to easily catch it, unrolling it and scanning it quickly. “Clearance has come through for the warrants for the map on the Elredge case.”

“Really?” Draco said. “That’s great.” It was the first positive thing that he’d said and Ron shot him a second look of surprise. “I mean, fine, let’s go check it out,” he said, this time, his voice dripped with disinterest.

They flooed to the Edinburgh branch of the Ministry of Magic and checked in with the Edinburgh Intelligence Unit, laying out their plans for the city with Marva, the coordinator for the unit.

Their first stop was at a pub on Verviana Lane, a side alley off of magical Edinburgh’s main thoroughfare. Using the map, they were able to spell the location of a large and dusty cavern beneath the pub, which was raucously loud even in the middle of the day. Once they got into the spelled-up storage space, they were exceedingly disappointed. As far as Draco and Ron could tell, the space hadn’t been used in years, if not decades.

“Next one?” Ron suggested. Draco didn’t even dignify that with a response, just headed towards the street. With a sigh, Ron followed and they apparated to the next. The next one didn’t yield much either, a large and clearly disused warehouse that was so dust-filled, Ron couldn’t stop sneezing until they had left the building.

Ron didn’t have much hope for their third location, so of course, at the following one, they struck gold.

Their third stop was another underground set-up, but the entrance had been spelled close with heavy-duty keep away spells that had been recently laid. In a moment, Draco’s face went deadly serious and his wand was up.

Ron cast a silent seeking spell, directing it towards the locked chambers. The spell set out like a ripple in the air that would alert Ron if there was anyone inside. After a minute, Ron shook his head. “It’s empty right now.”

“Ok, I’ll remove the door spells, you keep look out,” Draco said and set to counter-spell the door. It took him more than a few minutes and he was sweating when he finished, wiping his forehead on his robes. “Should be good.”

Ron carefully opened the door, keeping his wand out, but no alarms or spells went off when he had fully opened it, so he breathed a sigh of relief. “Bloody hell,” he said slowly once he looked out in the room. It was packed with pallets, barrels and more jars than he could count, all neatly arranged and clearly ready to be shipped.

“You think…?” Ron started.

“It’s got to be them,” Draco said. He stepped cautiously into the room and then when nothing happened, continued on through. “We’ve got dragon feathers, powdered scarab, unicorn horn,” he read slowly.

In the far corner, there were a series of cabinets, filed with parchment orders and ledger books. Ron raised his eyebrows when he saw them. “Merlin’s bollocks,” he said. “We’ve got to get the team here.”

“Let’s go back to the Ministry,” Draco said. “They can get a team out here to secure it immediately and then we’ll be able to do a full accounting.”

But when they went to leave, Ron found that he couldn’t open the door. “Need some help?” Draco asked, his lips curled up into a lazy grin that indicated that he found this highly amusing.

“No,” Ron said and then attempted another turn. “Actually, yes. I can’t get it open.”

And Draco was laughing, as if he was somehow going to have better luck than Ron, but then he got a confused look on his face when he tried, pulling so hard that Ron was surprised he didn’t pull his arm out.

“What the—” Draco said and he took out his wand and said “ _Resarare intellium_ ,” at it. The door pulsed purple and Draco dropped his head back and groaned. “Of course. They have a curse on the door to prevent anyone from leaving without the proper counter-spell. We’re going to need to get a counter-curse team in here.”

Ron closed his eyes and thought about apparating. His body twinged with a hard no. “Apparating is out as well.”

“Merlin, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Draco said, low and vicious. “Can I not catch a break?”

“No, it’s fine,” Ron said. “Or rather, it’s not fine at the moment, but we’ll be fine. The office knows where we went and when we don’t check in with them in a few hours, they’ll come search for us. I highly doubt that anyone is going to come while we’re here, but we can put up our own locking spell in the meantime.”

“ _Closura porta_ ,” Draco said and then turned around. “I’m going to go check out the files—why don’t you stay over here and wait,” he continued like the petty bastard he could be. Something inside of Ron snapped.

“Draco, are you ever going to forgive me?” Ron asked. “I need to know if it’s something that’s actually a possibility. I’ve said I’m sorry—and believe me, I wish that I could take back the fact that you know how I feel about you. But I can’t. And I’ve spent the last week doing everything I can think of to make you more comfortable—letting you have space, not talking to you, but if we’re never going to have a good working relationship, it’s better that I go to Manette now and request a transfer.”

“What?” Draco said.

“I mean, I don’t want to,” Ron said hurriedly. “It’s a last resort. But, well, I’ve gone through most of the other resorts and I just need to know if I’m in last resort territory.”

“Not that,” Draco said. “How do you feel about me?” He was looking at Ron intently, completely focused as if lives hung upon Ron’s answer.

“I—er,” Ron started, “Are you really going to make me say it?” But Draco just kept looking at Ron and so Ron sighed. He looked away as if that made it somehow less horrible—to have to confess your crush to someone who so clearly hated the thought of you liking them in a more than platonic way. “I really like you, Draco.”

“I thought that you were just trying to let me down,” Draco said quietly but Ron’s head instantly snapped up. “I thought that you were going to say that it had all been a mistake.”

“No—never,” Ron said horrified and when Draco smiled, Ron couldn’t help himself from reaching out for Draco and pulling him close to kiss.

And if the Auror team that showed up to investigate was surprised by the fact that Ron and Draco appeared a little disheveled as they investigated when the search team entered, or that Ron and Draco happened to be standing awfully close to each other, well that was Ron and Draco’s business only.

 

 

Later, Ron said, “Good thing that we’ve already got telling your mum out of the way." In response, Draco just looked smug. “Wait,” Ron said slowly.


End file.
